


Stepping in

by aquatarius



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gift Fic, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Original Character(s), Pre-Relationship, clowns man, original characters used for background stuffs, small concussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 03:04:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5895673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquatarius/pseuds/aquatarius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darkleer gets hurt by one of the clowns, and the Grand Highblood steps in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stepping in

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EtcheStone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtcheStone/gifts).



  For all your training and your strength, you _are_ afraid of clowns. They’re faster than you, more nimble, and strength does nothing if you can’t land a hit. It’s like a bunch of wolves, perhaps, attempting to take down a wild beast. Enough wolves and they can take down nearly anything. And they have their own strength. Even if they aren’t as strong as you, they’re still strong.

  So, of course you’re afraid of clowns. But you don’t know a troll who isn’t. (Sea dwellers are the exception, although no doubt more than a few of them are at least weary of the clowns.) So you keep your chin up to bare your throat, and keep your eyes away from their faces. You try not to pick fights, even though sometimes you have to grit your teeth so hard they break so you don’t respond to a jab. You have a lot of missing teeth.

  It’s been a particularly hard night when you snap at a troll, telling him exactly where he can stick his paint covered fingers after he suggests something you could do with _your_ fingers. No one could really blame you for snapping like that, with your whole body aching and every troll that you saw looking down their noses at you and sneering.

  But he _did_ blame you, and you could see it, how his hand went to his club and his lip curled in the starting of a snarl. Your hand went to the bow on your back, pulling it out, and your other hand strayed to the quiver on your thigh. It was an automatic movement, defensive and drilled into your since you were picked to become an Executioner.

  It was a mistake.

  The honk that tore from the clown’s throat barely warned you of the club that was slammed into the side of your head a moment later. You stumbled to the side, your head ringing and your sight loosing focus. The wall was there, though, steady, firm, and you used it to hold yourself up. Again, another hit to your head, and an awful cracking noise.

  The club swung yet again, but this time it met something other than your head. It met someone’s arm with a dull thud. You pressed yourself against the wall as hard as you could. You tipped up your chin and kept your eyes on the boots in front of you. Boots you _should’ve_ recognized.

  “Brother. You should know better than to atta-”

  “It grabbed his bow. _It_ started-” The crack of someone’s bone breaking made you look up. The Highblood was snarling down at the other clown, the one that had attacked you. The Highblood had the other’s forearm in his grip, and it was twisted at an angle that made your stomach twist a little, even with all that you’ve seen. You swallowed and slowly put your bow back. It was cracked, and you wondered when you had lost control of your grip enough to break it.

  “You _will_ respect _him_. You know _damn_ well he’s under my protection, SCUM BUCKET.” The Highblood hissed. His voice boomed on the last words, and you flinched, your ears flattening. “YOU KNOW THAT DAMN WELL, JOSKOI.”

  He wrenched on the other clown’s arm and the he shrieked in pain, stumbling forward.

  “GET OUT OF MY SIGHT.” You hoped the Highblood would stop shouting soon. Your head was beginning to really ache. You didn’t really process what the Highblood was saying, exactly. It wasn’t your business to listen in on the clowns, and your head was still trying to clear itself and process what was happening. You watched as the other clown jerked away and fled in the general direction of the healers. You wondered if anyone would have the shameglobes to help him, due to who’d hurt him. It would probably be that Jaqc, everyone knew the lord and her were close.

  Then he turned and looked at you. You looked back, staring at his face for a moment before remembering yourself and looking down. You really need to remember your manners. To respect your betters. Training phrases seem to pulse through your mind, hours of hard work and hard lessons. They beat into you that you are beneath them and their lessons are not ones that you forget easily.

  He whined, his face softening, and stepped closer. After a few moments of looking at you, he lifted his hand to touch your cheek. You jerked so hard your head slammed into the wall, and he whined louder.  He held his hand there, open, claws carefully tipped away from your face.  It didn’t seem like he wanted to hurt you, so, after a moment, you leaned your face into his open palm. He cupped your cheek, rubbing his thumb gently across your skin.

  “Are you all right?” He asked. You nodded. Your words were not easy to force out right now, and if your voice squeaked, you’d probably die of embarrassment.  He didn’t seem pleased by your refusal to use words.“Speak up.”

  “I. I’m, fine, my lord.” You answered after a moment. Miraculously, your voice was steady, and didn’t squeak. Thank the gods for small gifts. He gave your cheek a few gentle pets, and then drew his hand away. You swallowed. It wasn’t every day a blue blood got pet by a purple, let alone the lord of the purples.

  “Go see the healers.” He said. You muttered something about not needing to and he huffed, an upset sound, not an angry one. “You do. You can barely stand on your feet. I saw how hard he hit you. Go see them.”

  You grunted, and turned, walking in the direction the other clown had taken. Everything was sort of wobbly, and then it tilted wildly. Your last thought, before you passed out, was that something was trying to stop your fall.

-

  Now you’re waking up in the healing rooms. Your head is ringing and there’s a cloth pressed to your forehead. Someone is talking, or maybe a few someones. After a moment of focusing, you can pick out the words.

  “He’ll be fine, my lord. I just want to keep him in for a few nigh-No, he’s not going to be impaired, Messiahs, you’d think he’d been beaten half to death. He’s had worse, and he will again.” The voice is one you know well. It’s Jacw, the healer and friend of the clown lord. You groan and open your eyes. “It’s a small concussion. He’s-Oh. He’s awake. Hello.”

  You push yourself up and blink at her. She smiles back at you, paint stretching a little. Her lord, the Grand Highblood, is standing at her side, ears lowered and eyes wide. You blink at him. He blinks back. You slowly lay back down and cover your eyes with a hand.

  “Stallion?” He asks. Jaqc stifles a quiet laugh, and you sigh deeply. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, my lord. I’ve hit my head before.” You say. You sit up and swing your legs off the side. Jaqc makes a rather ticked off sound in the back of her throat, and comes over to gently push you back down. Her hands are as gentle as they are large, and they are very large.  Her fingers are nimble and capable, of course, but they don’t look it. She is a clown, after all, and they’re made to be big.

  “You’re going to stay in here and rest. Tomorrow you can go, if you’re not worse.” She says. You would probably argue if your lord wasn’t nodding. He is, though, and he looks rather concerned. You almost want to hiss at him for looking concerned over a blue blood. There’s a call, and the healer mutters an apology and leaves, casting you a last, half curious and half friendly look.

  The Highblood walks over and leans his side on your bed, honking quietly in greeting.

  “I don’t mean to be rude, but _what_ are you doing here?” You ask. You’re aware that your tone is not one that you should be using for someone with his status, but you know he’s not going to do a damn thing about it. It’s infuriating. You’d heard that he was capricious to an absurd extent, but this is just _ridiculous._

  “I’m checking up on you. You have a concussion. Those are dangerous.” He says, quite seriously. You grab onto a piece of his hair and yank on it. He honks loudly and swats at your hand, taking a step back.

  “They probably have five concussions in here a day.” You say. It’s getting hard not to grit your teeth, but it’s a habit you’re trying to break. Teeth take time to grow back and you can’t be breaking them as often as you are. It makes for an unsightly mouth.

  Of course, he just honks and sits down. He’s not going to answer you.  You close your eyes and grumble, unhappy by his refusal to explain. Not that it’s not very flattering to have him so worried about you, but why _you_?

  After he thinks you’ve fallen asleep, he gently strokes his knuckles over your cheek, starting to purr to you. You keep yourself perfectly still, your breathing steady. You wait until after he leaves, called away by some issue, to touch the cheek he touched and wonder what in all the empire is wrong with him.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you like! :> Happy anniversary.


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